


Eloquent upon the moon

by firecrackerx



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - J. Sheridan Le Fanu
Genre: F/F, Other, novella rewriting, victorian au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 15:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4024657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firecrackerx/pseuds/firecrackerx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I shall ask you to bear with De Lafontaine's pronouns. The matter will be addressed.</p></blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shall ask you to bear with De Lafontaine's pronouns. The matter will be addressed.

The warm smell of summer sun on damp grass floated in the air. The woman sitting on the stone steps at the entrance had fallen asleep with a child nested against her chest, head and shoulder reclined against a vast column. A bright red curl had escaped the many hairpins holding her abundant mane and it kept swinging softly in the breeze. She was holding the child on her lap with the softness of sleep. Lafontaine looked at them silently.


	2. The new governess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mademoiselle de Lafontaine needs a new job. Urgently.

A few weeks before Mademoiselle de la Lafontaine stood quietly watching the woman and the child sleep, she had been on the coachman’s seat of a little black carriage, next to the driver, wondering what was she doing on her way to a house that stood, she was starting to think, way too far from civilization. The wheels bounced over the narrow path, a dense canopy of dark branches obscured the Styrian sun and it had been long since they had spotted the last glimpses of an inhabited castle. She had perked up when a cluster of sharp grey silhouettes had risen at their right, distant but visible among the trees:

“Is that a village?”

The driver did not take his eyes off the road. In fact, she had the impression that he was making an effort to keep his eyes away from the little grey mementos of civilization:

“Yes, Madamoiselle, the Karnstein village.”

“Is it big?” she asked. Even villages had pubs and hope died hard.

“It’s been abandoned for many years, in ruins,” he said. She felt he wanted to say more, but after a moment of hesitation he simply murmured: “Bad place.”

After that he seemed hostile somehow, and she preferred to keep to herself as the long road snaked among trees and the humid air of the forest clung to her forehead. She sighed now and then, wondering how it was possible for anyone to live so far from a city. Did they travel half a day every time they felt like going to the theater? How did one take a stroll around here? You would take a shield with you, for sure, if you had to venture into these forests. And who rode into these forests, by the way, to deliver the newspaper every day? Did they get the newspaper at all? Did they? She almost jumped off the coach and ran back to Germany at the thought.

But there was no going back to Germany now.

Oh, well, she had known this day would come, although she had expected —and hoped— for it to come much later. Every night she had slipped away from her house under the thick blanket of darkness, Lafontaine had wondered how many nights would she have left until her father learned about her escapades. And the thought never made her cautious, but stirred a recklessness in her, a thirst for adventure. Propelled by the teeth of time biting at her ankles, she ventured in pubs full of smoke where only women drank, dressed in male clothes tailored for her that she kept in an old trunk under her bed. She walked over the damp cobblestones of narrow streets and smiled at unchaperoned girls who sent sharp, hungry looks at her. She kissed them behind shadowy corners, away from the soft halos of gas streetlights.

Lafontaine knew he would find out some day, especially when she started leaving the house in her male attire by day to attend scientific conferences and gradually borrowing books of medicine from his shelves. But she had closed her mind to looming threats and enjoyed every second of it. She loved the city by night and the smell of theaters; loved crowded rooms of frowning gentlemen who studied models of anatomy intently; loved the softness of a girl’s body when she pressed them against a wall for an urgent kiss. She knew the price for her time of pleasure approached, but had ignored it until it fell upon her, and even then she had not a single regret for what she had done. Still, it had taken her by surprise that he had found about her activities so soon.

In hindsight, bedding the daughter of one of her father’s colleagues had probably been a bad idea.

Lafontaine had faced the whole ordeal with clenched teeth and a burning defiance. She didn’t cry or protest when her father asked her to leave, but immediately started packing, taking with her several of his most valuable books on general medicine. There had been a moment amidst the furious packing, as rage was starting to ebb away, when she had felt a sting of panic in the chest. She could probably ask a few favors and sleep with some friends for a few weeks, but then what? In the next days the whole city would know her father had spurned her and no one would employ the disgraced daughter of one of the most prominent doctors in Berlin. She would be alone, without any possibility to get a job and with barely any money to her name. She considered leaving Berlin, but the expenses of the journey would take most of her money even before she could find a place to sleep or an employer.

In the days that followed she moved from place to place, posing her problem to the few friends she maintained away from her family. She didn’t dare abuse their charity for more than one or two days, knowing her friends usually struggled with their income. On the ninth day she dragged her bags under the roof of a new acquaintance, a lively girl she had met a year ago in one of her nightly escapades. She rarely kept contact with the women she met at night, having tried at first to keep her adventures as far away from her role as obedient daughter as possible, but Mary was one of very few exceptions. She had a nose full of freckles, lived in a small rented room and purred to her landlady until she allowed Lafontaine to stay a few days. She was tired of carrying her bags all over Berlin, of thinking about possible jobs that would not land her in jail and of seeing her money disappear day by day, but she cheered up a little bit when she saw the single bed. The girl smiled and swatted her arm softly, guessing her thoughts. Bags were placed against walls in the few empty spots of the little room and they went out to hunt for some cheap, warm dinner.

The next morning Mary started getting ready for work before dawn, which was downright unpleasant in Lafontaine’s opinion, especially after having taken full advantage of the rare luxury of having a bed and a willing woman at the same time. Without the usual troubles of people walking past them, stray cats making suspect noises in their vicinity or constables patrolling close by, their only worry had been not falling off the bed. They had only been partially successful.

“Listen, I may know of a job…” said Mary in her slightly strident voice, sitting on the bed while Lafontaine helped her back into her clothes. She could lace up a corset pretty fast. Although not as fast as she could unlace them. “Someone was looking for a finishing governess a few weeks ago…”

“A finishing governess?”

“You never had one? I thought you were one of them rich folks? A governess to give the girl a more polished touch, you know. They were looking for one who spoke German and French and could teach music and art at the very least, plus whatever classes she could provide. Nicely paid, living in the house with the child and eating at their table and all.”

“That sounds better than what you do now, which is… a plain governess?”

“Just governess!” she said shaking her freckle-dusted shoulders to test the strength of the lacing. “It’s in Austria. Relative of mine over there let me know by letter, they’ve been having problems finding one because their castle is deep in the forest. I could find you the address, maybe they are still looking.”

“Austria? I would spend all the money I have just to get there!”

“They’ll probably pay for the journey, too. They were kind of desperate,” she said with a shrug, getting up and briefly kissing a fretful Lafontaine on the lips.

The next morning she sent a letter to Styria, a place she didn’t even know existed before writing it. The answer arrived as fast as it could be expected of a letter coming all the way from Austria, and more importantly, it carried good news. 

A frightening number of nights in inns and carriage rides later, Lafontaine was in the middle of a forest in Styria, wanting nothing more than to go back to Berlin but following the only path life allowed her. And she had to take it and make the most of it. She had to focus and behave. She was out of luck, she knew it. She had gambled with her luck for a few years, high stakes, and now she was paying the price. There was nothing for her except the Styrian castle and the little girl in need of lessons. Maybe after some time, if she saved some money, she could go back to Berlin… but daydreaming about it was for nothing. She had to steel herself. Losing the job was unthinkable. She had to focus and work hard in that isolated chunk of stone in the middle of nowhere.

She wondered with a silent sigh if she would ever see a naked woman again.

The arrival was less traumatic than the journey, her exhaustion cushioned by the first sight of her new residence. After rattling uncomfortably over an old bridge, the coach followed the road into a wide glade among the thick forest. The breeze moved easily in the open space, cooling her face, making the tall grass bend and whispering around the dark mass of the castle. The castle was… a castle. Lafontaine had expected an old manor house styled in Gothic fashion, with towers, maybe. But it was a real castle, old, dark and imposing, with a front full of windows, Gothic towers and surrounded by a moat. The road passed right in front of its massive drawbridge, lowered down and covered in adventurous green bits that sprout from its cracks, surely a testimony of its lack of use. Swans and water lilies inhabited the still waters of the moat. It was like a tired old nightmare invaded by the gentle hand of nature.

The father of her new pupil welcomed her outside, shook her hand and disappeared again after asking her about her journey, making sure they were in agreement about the subjects she would impart and the payment she would receive, and telling her Madame Perrodon would explain everything she needed and help her find her new room. She watched him walk back to the castle with long strides and a busy air about him, and wondered if the need for two governesses had something to do with his laconic nature, ill-suited for a little girl in such a lonely place.

“Who is Madame Perrodon, please?” she asked to the driver as he unfastened the belts securing her bags to the carriage.

“Lady of the house, or as close as it gets,” he grunted taking the heaviest bag to the ground. “Takes care of the little miss.”

“A relative, then? Or her governess?” said Lafontaine. She knew her employer was a widower.

“I guess governess it is. She does the bookkeeping, too. A housekeeper of sorts, if you will. Someone has to, you see,” he said distractedly. “The master is kind, but he won’t run the house, always locked up with his books. She sees to that kind of thing, good head on her shoulders. One of those young military widows.”

“Is she the only one in the house with the family?”

“As I understand. One cook, one maid, myself… that’s all for service. But we live in the rooms behind the schloss, it’ll be the four of you in the house. They get a gardener twice a month from the nearest village, too.”

“I see,” she murmured, helping him with the last of her luggage. Temptation would be minimal. Sad, very sad, but also very fortuitous. Lafontaine prayed silently for Madame Perrodon to be an ugly young military widow.

He helped her carry her bags —and the trunk where her male clothes were hidden still, which made her nervous every time she saw someone touch it— across the drawbridge and to the stone steps of the entrance. A little girl with big brown eyes spied her movements from the open door, half hidden.

“Hello, you must be Laura,” she said approaching. The girl smiled and disappeared inside with a giggle. Lafontaine smiled too, nervously. She had never been too good with children. The driver disappeared with most of her luggage and she followed him into the shade of the hall. As soon as she walked inside she felt her stomach send a bitter burning up her throat. She let go of her bag; it fell on the stone floor with a heavy thud. She felt nauseous, and could only focus on a faint smell of smoke and pinewood burning her nose and her throat.

“Mademoiselle de Lafontaine?”

She ignored the voice. Her forehead was damp with sweat, her stomach burned. The smell of pine was dissolving. The nausea had been so violent she panted, eyes closed:

“What…? What is that smell?”

“I am sorry, what smell?”

She looked up. The sudden sickness was disappearing as fast as it had arrived and a woman a few years older than herself was examining her like she was insane. She had a full figure and a long abundance of red hair carefully arranged in a modest bun and kept close to her head with an army of strategically placed hairpins. Her blue eyes were cold as she studied Lafontaine. The little girl was with her, hidden behind her skirts and pressing her face against her hip as she looked at the newcomer with her inquisitive eyes.

“I suddenly… sorry, I got a little nauseous… please, excuse my behavior.”

“Ah, understandable,” said Madame Perrodon with a little smile. It was brief and mechanic. “It’s a very long journey from Berlin. I am Madame Perrodon, Laura’s governess,” she extended a pale hand, but was looking at Lafontaine like still deciding if she was a lunatic she had to remove from the proximity of her ward.

“It’s a pleasure to be finally here,” she said minding her manners but still disorientated about the sudden nausea. The hall was poorly lit and fresh, barely decorated. She couldn’t smell anything as she shook Madame’s hand.

“You do look tired,” said the woman. Then she placed a hand on Laura’s head and murmured in French: “Run along, darling.” She obeyed, sending a little smile in Lafontaine’s direction before running towards the stairs. “Don’t run up the stairs, Laura!” said Madame rising her voice before turning back to her.

“Children,” smiled Lafontaine faintly. Madame Perrodon did not smile in return:

“Let me walk you to your room now, Mademoiselle,” she turned around briskly and moved towards the stairs. Lafontaine grabbed her bag and followed her quickly. “After you have some rest we need to discuss Laura’s schedule and her subjects. I will supervise her lessons. You don’t need to concern yourself with her care outside of your duties, but of course you are welcome to, if you wish to bond with her. If we don’t speak before you see her again and wish to do so, please, no fairytales, folk tales, or any other form of story based in nonexistent creatures.”

“She dislikes them?”

“She has never heard one in her life. She is prone to night terrors.”

“In her life…?”

“I have always been her governess.”

Lafontaine followed her upstairs and through a long corridor. The driver had not been wrong: Madame acted like the lady of the house. She considered the possibility of her being the mistress of their employer, but then remembered the master of the house had been in the Austrian military service and doubted he would be willing to bed something so akin to a field marshal.

They stopped in front of an open door. The rest of her luggage was already inside.

“Rest until you are fully recovered, Mademoiselle. My room is right there,” she pointed to a closed door on the front wall, some steps further down the corridor. “You can usually find me here when I am not tending to Laura. If you need something, knock.”

“Understood,” said Lafontaine, fighting to keep herself from offering a military salute. Madame lowered her head briefly and went back to the stairs.

Lafontaine started unpacking as soon as she closed the door behind her. She felt tired to the bones, in a way that went beyond her body. Nothing was as she had expected it. But she was safe, she had a roof over her head, a room of her own. She would be fed, and she would work. She could bear an eccentric employer. And a lonely castle. And a total lack of pubs in the vicinity... 

She tried to focus on the positive things. The girl looked sweet and had a clever look about her, she would be a good pupil. There were lots of interesting plants around she could examine in her free time. And the matronly, bossy widow was the only woman she would have to see every day, making the castle as free of temptation as she had dared to hope.

The chances of Lafontaine ruining this were, quite literally, less than zero.


End file.
